Sold
by Literature work
Summary: AU: Roy Mustang is a physicist working on new inventions with his daughter Winry. Unfunded by the universities for his too advanced theories, he needs to run the plantation he inherited to fund his research. His slave driver Kimblee announces that one of his slaves died. Mustang needs to buy a replacement to tend the crop. His buy is going to be the biggest challenge he has. Review
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**_ _: As you know I posted the Prompt for this story so I guess you kind of already know how it ends. I just couldn't stop thinking of it after I wrote the outline so now I am going to try and write it. It isn't going to be my main focus, as I have other stories open. But I hope to be posting a couple chapters at least to give the prompt a little more fluff._

 _ **Summary**_ _: Roy Mustang is a physicist who works on new inventions with his adopted daughter Winry as his mechanic. However, unfunded by the universities for his too advanced theories, he continues to run the plantation he inherited to make a living and fund his research. After one of his slave drivers, Kimblee, announces that one of his slaves passed away. Mustang needs to buy a replacement to keep his crop tended. Unbeknownst to him, his buy is going to prove more stressful yet more rewarding than he thought._

 ** _Sold_**

Chapter One

Sold

Roy was bent over his desk with a cup of coffee in his hand and a pen in the other. He yawned tiredly as he scratched more numbers down for the sake of his project. He had been spending his whole life on this and yet as the years crawled by he seemed to be getting nowhere. He sat back and took another drag of his coffee, lifting the pages in front of him to read. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He growled to himself as he slammed them down on the table. His fingers curled around the edges of the paper, crumbling his wasted time up into a ball. He threw it hopelessly into the garbage bin and inhaled the rest of his coffee. He spent the last week on that just to come up empty handed.

If only he had someone to double check his notes while he was writing them, then he wouldn't waste time on dead ends. But no one was interested in his ideas. A flying machine. Something that could revolutionize travel and scientific study, was nothing the university was looking to fund. He cursed silently to them as he stood up from his desk and kicked his chair in. It was because of them that he had to waste his time running his family's plantation to fund his own project. He could be spending more of his time on his calculations with his peers instead of worrying about his crops and labor.

"Agriculture's a bitch," he growled to himself as he stumbled out of the study to get himself cleaned up. He had to go over his budgets for that month and he wasn't looking forward to seeing how little the numbers were. However, he knew, one of these days when they get the machine up in the air, they wouldn't have to worry about digits anymore because they would be in the triples. If only he could finish it in time for the next World Fair then he could shove his success up the University's ass.

Roy was walking through the hallway of his house when he heard a loud knock on the front door. He looked up from where his mind was otherwise preoccupied and stumbled over to it. He opened it up for himself just to find the familiar face of his slave driver in the door way. He was cradling his hat in his hands with his head bowed and a solemn look on his face that never reached his eyes. Roy frowned as he studied the man. Kimblee was never someone he enjoyed to have around but since he began his employment their income has raised near double as before. He was an asset where the other drivers were not. Unfortunately his presence at his house usually meant that something went wrong down in the fields. Roy had grown accustomed to dealing with mishaps where Kimblee was involved. Roy motioned him to come in and the man glided through the doorway like a shadow in the sunlit hallway.

"What happened?" Roy asked, not liking how this day was starting out.

"Sir, I am afraid to inform you that Slave 22 has passed away. We don't have anyone now tending the last row of crop-"

"Passed away? I thought I just got him. What happened?" Roy demanded, wanting an answer to the loss of one of his workers.

"Some illness he had not informed us about apparently. He wasn't the most fit after all," the man replied a little too quickly for his taste. Roy growled to himself as he rubbed his jaw tiredly.

"You gave him a burial and a ceremony I suppose?" he asked him as he turned and started to make his way back into his study. Roy pushed his papers away from his desk and reached over to pull out his account books. He opened them up and rifled through the pages.

"Of course sir," Kimblee said hesitantly.

"It's important for their morale-"

"Of course, sir," Kimblee said more affirmatively. Roy rolled his eyes as he stopped on the last page of his budget. He cursed when he saw the numbers. It was the middle of the season and his funds were running low. They wouldn't have a large amount of income until the harvest came around. However he still needed workers in order to care for his crop or those damn bugs would get to them before they could grow. He needed to get a replacement but with how much he had, he didn't know what kinds of slaves were available on the cheap.

"Kimblee get your things ready and put them in the cart. I assume Winry finished the wheel by now and is working on some other project. We are going to have to go to the auction house today," Roy told him tiredly as he closed his book and put it back up on the shelf. Kimblee smiled at him, an expression that would have sent chills down anyone's spine. That was the only thing that Roy knew Kimblee felt emotionally. He watched the man leave to undoubtedly get the restraints he needed. New slaves tended to be aggressive, one nearly managed to kill Roy the first time he was naive enough to go to the auction house by himself. That was years ago, before he really knew how to run a farm by himself but Roy still couldn't take chances. All he needed was someone to tend the crop.

Walking out of the house, Roy went over to where the barn near the house where they kept their wagons and horses. He entered to the smell of hay and oil, the two oddest combinations. It was dimly lit inside however he could see a small lantern sitting on the floor. He walked in, nodding gently towards one of the slaves who were tending the horses, and bent down underneath the wagon to see a rather dirty figure up against the axle of the wheel with a wrench and mallet. Her dress was covered in loose straw, some of which was also standing out of her hair at odd angles because of her laying on the ground. She didn't seem to notice him as she finished tightening the bolts of the wagon wheel. It looked brand new, a fix that would have costed him a good deal, but instead just costed him pennies because of his daughter.

"Winry," he said just to accidentally startle her. The woman yelped at the sudden voice and sat up, unfortunately into the top of her wagon. She cursed lightly, rubbing out the sore bump she had on her head as she crawled out from under neath the wagon.

"Dad, you jerk!" she exclaimed as she walloped him his own goose egg with her wrench. He cursed as well and cradled his own wounds.

"What was that for?" he exclaimed as Winry got up and pulled her tools out from underneath the cart.

"You scared me! I thought you were still inside working on aerodynamics-"

"It was all scrap, like usual," he grumbled under his breath. "Kimblee and I are going to have to go into town. Is the wagon finished?"

"Just got done. I had to straighten out the axle so that took a bit of work but it should drive fine now," she told him. "That was the best project I had in a long time. We should break things more often-"

"Maybe after the harvest when we get more money-"

"Or when you take that flying contraption to the world fair," Winry egged him on.

"I don't think that is going to be anytime soon."

"Come on, Dad, all you need to do is finish those calculations, I will build it, and then we don't have to worry about all of this," she said motioning to… everything. "Maybe I could get my own workshop."

"I don't doubt you can, but until the neighbors warm up to your strange hobbies, the only place you will be building is here," Roy chuckled as he messed up his daughters hair. The girl pouted like she used to when she was only a toddler, her blue eyes glaring up at him stubbornly. They were eyes that if he had his own child he couldn't give but he was always amazed at how similar she was to him. They were both so stubborn. "Come on, after we leave you can continue your…. What were you working on again?"

"It's supposed to be a prosthetic hand, better than those damn wooden things you get on cheap. But like you, I have come to a dead end," she mumbled as she smeared some wheel grease on her face as she scratched her face curiously, pondering her latest dilemma. "Only problem is I don't have anyone to try it out on. I will never know if it works. And, like you said, no sensible man would trust a woman's invention."

"I never said that," Roy sharply replied making his daughter pout a little more. "Like me, they just aren't ready for you genius designs. I guess we both have to just push a little harder to get these things going."

"Take after the best," Winry grinned lightly as she punched him in the ribs lightly. Roy chuckled as she scurried off towards the back of the barn where they kept all of the scrap metal and parts that she used. She spent most of her time out in the barn working on one thing or another. It was like her second home. Roy frowned lightly thinking about that. Winry's 18th birthday was coming up. She would start being courted by the local boys whether she wanted it or not. Someday she would have to get married but like she had said previously, no sensible man would trust a woman mechanic. He just hoped that there was a man out there that would accept both Winry and her habit for gears.

"Sir," he heard Kimblee's slimy voice come from behind him. Roy turned to see the man carrying a few lengths of heavy iron shackles over his shoulder. He sighed as he motioned for the barn slave to hook up the horse to the newly fixed wagon. This was going to be a long day.

…

It was crowded, like usual. The auction house was full of buyers near and far who all needed new assets to tend their farms, their houses, and do any odd job they needed. Roy had to push his way through the crowd in order to find a view of the betting stage that the auctioneer was standing on. They had arrived bit late and saw that they were already bidding off a young girl. The large drivers wrangled her off the stage towards a rather large man who seemed a little too pleased with his buy. Roy shivered. He couldn't imagine being in the hands of that brute for long. Above the bicker and conversation, Roy heard Kimblee shout to him over his shoulder.

"Would you like me to get the line up?" he asked him. Roy shook his head.

"The first one I can afford we are getting. There is no point waiting forever for a sale I might miss," he told him.

"Ah, cheap as always, Mr. Mustang," a familiar voice chimed. Roy looked over his shoulder to see Mr. Raven, the owner of the auction house standing behind him. The man held the largest slave auctions in the state and even in the small town that Roy lived in, they weren't anything a normal person wanted to miss. However, Roy was no ordinary person. Mr. Raven looked him over with a judgmental eye and smirked. "The fact that you are here today means that you are in desperate need of a slave. Did one die or run away? With the lax way you tend to treat them I would have to guess run away. However, it doesn't matter, we are sure to have one for you here," the man chided. Roy felt his ears grow red however he took in a huge breath and smiled back.

"I hope you do or else you wouldn't be able to drain me of my money," he said back. Roy hated playing nice but with his reputation in the small town as the hopeless inventor, he needed all of the connections he could get. One time it actually came in handy when Raven gave him a discount on one of the slaves he was buying. He supposed it was to attract him to the auction house more often, however Roy didn't see himself going there for any other reason except out of desperation for another hand.

"Well, if you have any questions on one of the sales I will be right here. We have quite an arrangement today," Mr. Raven cheered, pretending that Roy didn't lightly insult him as a penny pincher. Roy returned his attention back up to the stage. The auctioneer was yelling numbers so quickly for the newest showing which was a large blond man who seemed like he could crush skulls with his bare hands. It seemed like everyone wanted him. The bid was going up too fast that Roy couldn't even keep up with it if he tried. He decided just to wait it out until there was a slow one. There was no point in wasting his voice. The noise and clutter continued for a while and Roy was beginning to wonder how long they had actually been there when everything suddenly went silent.

"Starting price $400 any takers? Any at all?" the auctioneer asked loudly but no one replied. No one was interested. Roy bent his head to look up at the young form on stage. It was a young man with long golden hair braided back behind him. His torso was bare, having been stripped to show his assets for the sale and Roy was rather curious as to why there had not been any offers as of yet. He was fairly built, strong enough to tend crop and possibly any other job someone would throw at him, with in a fair price range too. Roy was about to raise his hand to call an offer when he felt an arm stop his.

"Sir, I don't think you want that one. I have been talking to the auctioneers. They say this is his last bidding," Kimblee told him quietly as to not alert anyone else he was actually thinking of buying the young slave. Roy removed the man's slimy grip from his arm and glared at him curiously.

"What do you mean? What does that have to do with-"

"Why everything Mr. Mustang," Roy heard Mr. Raven call out to him. "That slave is notorious for running away and having a rather… bold personality. He had fought nearly three of my handlers her in the house alone! This is his tenth time up on the stage by his current master. After this one, I am afraid that is it."

"That's it? What do you mean that's it?" he questioned him, keeping his eyes on the slave currently on the stage. Now that he looked at him, the young man had a certain gleam in his eyes that an owner would never think of buying. Determination was an asset out in the field but it was deadly to own. Slaves with that much confidence, that much determination, never lasted long under one man's care, and for good reasons. Raven chuckled lightly, waving him off like he had a silly question. Roy felt his ears heat up a little as he was being treated like a child.

"After this auction, if he doesn't sell, the master is going to just hand him over to the Homunculus group for lynching. If he can't get rid of him for money, fair punishment for trying to run away would be enough for that man. You know how everyone in the square likes a good-"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Raven, I am afraid you must count me out of that general population. I don't think I very much have a stomach for it," Roy told him smoothly. Before he could fully catch the frown riding across the man's face Roy raised his hand to the auctioneer. "Four hundred!" he shouted out, lifting the man's spirit for a sale. A rather surprised look came upon the auctioneer before he started rattling off numbers for the rest of the crowd to join in. Roy caught that look duplicated across the slave who was standing on the stage. He appeared to be rather surprised for the buy at all and his eyes seemed to be searching the crowd for the voice who had met the offer. Roy grinned as he looked around the room, listening to the hollow numbers ring off. No one else in the crowd was raising their hands in competition with him, making it a rather quick and cheap buy.

"Sold, to the dark haired man here with a fiery determination to tame the tameless. Come to the end of the stage to receive slave 310," the auctioneer's cheery voice sounded out. Roy saw the men on the stage start to wrestle the slave from where he was chained. It seemed that the slave did not want to obey. Roy knew that was an issue with buying him, however it was something that could be corrected. As he made his way towards the end of the stage he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, I don't think that this particular slave is the one for you-"

"The thing is Kimblee," Roy huffed, not even looking back at the man. "We can't afford anyone else." The slave was brought to his knees at the bottom of the stairs. He looked rather angry at being man handled. Roy walked up to him and bent down, reading the paper number that was slung around his neck for the sake of the auction. He took it off and threw it carelessly aside, not caring if he was littering Mr. Raven's floors. He crouched down next to the slave, and looked him over carefully. He had to give it to the kid, he was in better shape that Roy had been his entire life. However, the only fault in his complexion was the many scars that riddled his back and his sides. He saw many different brandings on him, each a symbol from a different master. Larger plantations would often burn their emblem into their slaves to claim them should something happen. As many marks and scars that the slave had it was evident that he had a nasty habit of trying to run away, and another habit of getting caught. Roy looked up into the slave's eyes just to be struck with a burning gold. Slave 310 seemed rather startled by the motion of being looked at and faced directly and his eyes were wide, very confused. It wasn't normal for someone to talk to a slave directly but rather their masters. Roy however, didn't care for customs very much, especially when he had questions.

"Did you ever work in the field before?" Roy asked him curiously. He seemed rather hesitant on opening his mouth, his eyes darting around to the other large men that surrounded him first before returning to Roy's own.

"Many times," the young man's strong voice said quietly through the ruckus.

"Good," Roy exclaimed as he stood up and motioned for the men holding him down to release him. Where the men let go, Kimblee took their place and hoisted Slave 310 to his feet. Roy ignored how the slave struggled under Kimblee for if he were to be touched by that man he would struggle too. Roy reached down into his wallet and pulled out the few credits that he brought with him and paid the cost off to Mr. Raven who took it rather eagerly.

"I hope you do know, Mr. Mustang, if I were that slave's previous master I think he would sell well enough for only 100," the man smirked, excited that he got a sale from a listing that he thought was dead.

"Well it is a good think you weren't his previous master because you obviously are blind to what you have in front of you," Roy chided playfully with a smirk. The two men glared lightly at each other in good competition and Roy lead the way out of the auction house with tired feet. The outside air hit him like salvation from the high heavens as they were out of that dusty and cramped auction house. He took a deep breath in and started for the cart, looking only once over his shoulder to see Kimblee following closely with slave 310. It seemed that he was glad to get some fresh air as well. Where 310 was going he would surely get plenty of it that's for sure.

"You will start tomorrow. I have some clothes for you in the cart since you appear to be lacking some," Roy told the kid and rooted around in the back of the cart, trying to find where they put them. He brought out a set of one of his old white shirts and brown slacks. "Hope they fit." They had a few holes in them and since Winry or himself were seamstresses he was just going to give them to his workers. He tossed them to slave 310 who caught them haphazardly in his bound hands. The kid's eyes grew as he looked down at the clothes in front of him. He looked very confused, which to Roy was rather strange.

"Kimblee help him up into the cart and unbind his hands so he can get dressed on the way back," he ordered lightly as he hopped up in the rivers seat of the cart and picked up the reigns. The cart shifted with the new weight and Roy heard the clatter of shackles as the slave was temporarily freed. Looking back to see if they were ready he caught sight of the new young man practically swimming in his old clothes. His golden eyes were wide as he looked down at the cloth, a set of complex emotions washing through him. Roy couldn't even begin to imagine what 310 was thinking and he didn't frankly care. It didn't bother him.

Roy flicked the reigns and the horses started to pull them back down through the streets of town towards the outskirts and the fields. Buying slave 310 was a matter of money and labor, but he would soon realize that when buying that particular slave, it meant a whole lot more than that.

….


	2. Chapter 2

_Author Note: Okay so this wasn't the story I wanted to work on. I just found the file on my laptop and rereading it I kind of finished the chapter I had started a long time ago. I know I haven't updated any of my stories recently. That is because I am trying to write a fic for FMA Big Bang and I need to get the draft done soon. I can't post it until later in the year unfortunately but once I can I will make sure to sshow you guys what were working on. Until then, updates might be slow on all of my stories. Sorry!_

 ** _Sold_**

Chapter 2

To the Fields

Edward looked down at his arms in awe as he sat in his assigned hut where all the plantation's slaves slept. He knew what to expect from his new owner like all the rest he had so far. Long harsh hours in the field, poor food, and little sleep. So far, in the presence of Kimblee his new overseer, his expectations were met. Yet, he couldn't help but imagine that this was going to be different. After all, he now had a shirt.

Edward rubbed the soft fabric between his fingers, feeling the stitching between it. The shirt had a few holes, but was over all a nice and comfortable piece. It has been a long time since he had one, especially one of that standard. He couldn't imagine a reason of why the man would give it to him. Wouldn't he think it a waste? Edward looked around at all the other slaves who were currently asleep on the various lumpy mattresses lying across the floor of the windowless hut. They were filled with straw, hay, and even a few sticks when nothing else could be found but it was better than sleeping on the floor. The other slaves had nice clothes too. He had met them all when he was sent directly to the field to work on his assigned row of crop. They were supposed to be in mourning, at least that was what the master said in the cart back to the plantation. But instead they were working out in the field singing their funeral songs in hopes of having some closure. Edward didn't know if the master had lied about the slaves getting the day off or if the overseer was going against his orders. He would never challenge how twisted a man's sense of humor could become when another person's livelihood was in their hands. He had made that mistake one too many times. But with the freshly dug dirt being a sign of recent internment under the apple tree that sat alongside the fields, Edward didn't mind that he didn't receive a welcome from his new peers. Even though he would never know who slave 22 was, he still felt like mourning and celebrating his departure with them. After all, he would be free in a way they never would be.

Edward laid down on the lumpy mattress next to another hot and sticky body. In the heat of the summer, the door of the hut was left open in hopes of cooling the overheating bodies that were trying to sleep. It, like always, had little effect. Sweat clung to Edward's skin from working in the boiling field all day and his muscles were complaining. After being locked in the auction house for nearly three months now trying to find a buyer, he seemed to have become slightly weak. He wasn't expecting to get sold to anyone. He had expected to see the end of his last auction and then afterwards the end of a rifle. After so many attempts to run away it seemed that no one wanted him. He originally thought that would have been a good thing. He wouldn't have to work in the fields anymore, he wouldn't have to do anyone's bidding. But seeing where that road had lead, Edward realized that being useless was the most dangerous thing to be. The man who had bought him had unknowingly saved his life for the time being. For that, Edward was grateful, but that still didn't stop his determination to leave. He was going to be free again someday and no man will own him. He just needed to find a way.

Edward closed his eyes and tried his best to get comfortable even though he knew it was a fruitless effort.

However, even though Edward just dreamed about getting home, he didn't realise that home was closer than he had first imagined.

…

Edward hauled the large pails of water up onto his shoulders from the spicket in the ground. Sweat slicked down his skin and his parched lips begged for a drink but with the watchmen looking down on him from their high steeds, he needed to keep pushing forward. The sound of water sloshing in the buckets taunted him but the last few weeks have been dry and it seemed the masters thought that water would be best served to the plants than the people tending them. His legs ached under the weight but he continued on. He had a far way to go until he got back to his row. The slaves in the closer rows had less to walk but he was all the way at the end. He no longer questioned how Slave 22 passed. If not from the driver's cruelty it was surely from the work.

"Get going 310," he heard the rough voice of one of the overseers growl at him. He saw the man's fat nasty hand tighten around the coiled grip of the whip and he picked up his feet before the man could even contemplate the motion of bringing it back. Edward staggered down the path towards the field a long ways off. The sun was beating high but he was grateful when he passed under the apple tree at the edge of the field. Its large canopy provided some shade which cooled him off in the beating sun. He felt his legs slow down ever so slightly to enjoy his time in it while he could. He was glad to hear the absence of hoofs behind him meaning that the slave drivers where elsewhere. A deep breath escaped his lips in a sigh as he looked up at the twinkling sun through the leaves. His eyes wandered through the limbs and down the trunk until they laid at the roots where the freshly upturned dirt still laid. The unmarked grave of slave 22, whatever his actual name might have been, sat beneath the shade in the luxury of forever sleep. However Edward couldn't help but notice the one woman who was doing her best to give the unmarked grave a name.

Her long dress billowed around her ankles as the young blond haired woman lined up what appeared to be a carved metal tombstone. There seemed to be some writing on it that Edward couldn't see from that distance on it. She dug it into the ground lightly to get it to stick before reaching down to the ground where a large mallet laid. The woman rolled up her sleeves of her dress and started to hammer away. Edward's eyes widened slightly as he watched her. She was sweating in the heat as she placed the marker at the head of the grave. She was obviously not a slave. Her dress was too nice and the slave drivers were not hovering over her. But what confused him the most was why a slave wasn't doing that for her. Surely a free man, especially a woman, wouldn't have been working so hard out of their own free will in that heat. Edward heard a loud crack by his ear and he jumped a little in fright. He turned his head over his shoulder to see one of the drivers standing over him on their horse.

"310, get a move on or you are gonna feel the next one," he threatened him. Edward didn't even realise his feet weren't moving and he quickly pulled them into a sprint, the pails of water sloshing on his shoulders. He ran up the path and continued his work for his row. It would only come nightfall when he would discover the newly made tombstone read "Slave 22, Johnson White, 1902"

….

Edward stood in line holding a rough and splintered wooden bowl in his hands. All of the slaves on the plantation were lined up at the stewpots waiting for their daily meal of creamed oats. The line felt like a mile as the sun beat down on their backs. After the days in the field, Edward's skin had already blistered and cracked in the sun. After days of painfilled work it finally got used to the sun's beating rays and healed to a darker shade of tan. He bet that with the dirt, grime, and tan if he looked in the mirror he probably couldn't recognize himself. Considering he hadn't looked in an actual mirror in over ten years he bet that he couldn't even recognize his reflection as himself anymore.

A shove in the back sent Edward a step forward in the line. The overseers were oddly quiet. Edward dared himself to look around to see that the large men were standing along the columns of slaves with their whips but not a scolding word was being said. If they noticed he had held up the line for even a second they would have been all over him. He had already seen one of the slaves get pulled out of the line the other day because he was a second too slow to step forward. The poor guy got chained to the post outside of the huts for the duration of the meal time before being sent straight back out to work without food. He was stuck outside in the hottest part of the day without a sip of water or a nibble of food. When Edward saw him crawl back to his reed mat he looked to be on the verge of heat stroke. He was practically dead. However as no overseer was whipping his ass for holding up the line that could only mean one thing; one of the owners were on the field.

In Edward's experience with his many owners he knew that the slave drivers were by far the worse people imaginable. The owners could give an owner but it was the overseers that carried it out however they saw fit even if their actions didn't fit the owner's morals. As long as the job got done, they would toy with the workers as much as they pleased. The only time they behaved themselves was when one of their bosses were on the field and watching. After all, it was the owners that paid them.

Looking around, Edward tried to find who it was but he didn't dare move his head too much in fear of attracting one of the guard's attention. It wasn't until he got to the front of the line fifteen minutes later that he saw the dark haired man that had bought him at the slave auction arguing with Kimblee, the head driver. He held a check book in his hand and a rather smart looking pen.

"Sir, some of the men have been complaining that they haven't been getting enough for their work," Kimblee hummed, a rather clever glimmer in his eye. The owner, Mr. Roy Mustang, looked rather unamused. He scribbled down a quick number and tore the note off, and handed it to the man.

"Here's your pay. Every two weeks. I am not responsible for what you do with it just to ensure you get no more and no less than what you are due. If they are tired of working long hours they should have become bankers. But with the way they seem to spend their money I really doubt they could knick a job doing that," the man mused.

Edward felt a whack to the back of the head as one of the overseers scolded him for not keeping the line moving. He rubbed his sore head and looked up to see the server waiting for his own bowl to serve. Edward quickly moved forward and handed the bowl off and watched the ladle full of slime fall into it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and settle his shivering stomach as the man handed it back to him. Edward felt the splintered wood pierce his hand as the bowl was slid into his grasp and looked down into its contents. The lumpy brown substance was soupy and speckled with white little dots. One would hope that it was flecks of sugar but after the many days Edward had already spent there he knew exactly what they were; maggots. They squirmed in his food and were a commonplace amongst their meals. The first time Edward saw them he wanted to hurl, he almost did, but he forced himself to eat it. After all, they only got two bowls a day. If he didn't eat it he would have surely starved.

He muttered a small thankyou as he quickly scuttled out of the line and over toward the apple tree where everyone was resting in its shade. As he passed Kimblee, the owner's black eyes caught a hold of his with a spark of recognition. Edward found himself faltering for a second as they stared at each other, his feet almost slowing to a stop. However, before he realized what he was doing, a hand came out and whacked his head roughly.

"Get going!" one of the overseer scolded him and Edward pulled his bowl closer to himself, afraid that the man was going to take it as he sprinted over to the apple tree with his food. The shade hit his back and he felt almost instant relief from the sun. He quickly sat down in the first spot he found. Everyone else was digging into their meals quickly, afraid for the whistle to blow and get beated back to the fields with only half a fill. Edward looked back down at his bowl and frowned as he saw the maggots squirm around in his creamed oats. He shivered as he dipped his finger into the bowl and brought out a small handful not having a spoon to use. One of these days he would get out of there and have a real meal for himself just like it used to be. Life would be good. But unfortunately, that day wasn't today.

….

Edward stared up at the dark ceiling of the hut listening to the quiet breathing of the people around him. He was yet again sandwiched between two other sweaty bodies who seemed to forget that he wasn't part of their straw matts. He was one of the few people awake not because he couldn't sleep, the long day in the fields would have ensured he passed out the instant he laid down, but because he was waiting for something.

The loud cricket and cycadia chirps rang through his ears like an alarm. It was hard to think under all of that noise but it was even harder to focus on what he was waiting for. A looming shadow was haunting the doorstep of their hut, its sharp cut eyes counting all of the bodies under the ricetty roof. It was the overseer taking inventory before the night began. They wanted to make sure all of their precious workers were in for the evening and accounted for. Afterall, everyone knew that losing a good slave was like losing a barn of horses. They were replaceable but a bitch to pay for. A bad one, like Edward knew he was, would only be worth maybe one horse at best but it was still something that any careful owner would not like to pay for again.

Edward watched out of the crack of his eye as the overseer scanned the building. He was very slow and very careful to make sure that he counted everyone. It seemed like ages before Edward heard a rather satisfied snort and the heavy boots clomped off of the shack's door step. He let out a tired breath that he didn't know he was holding and listened to the voices that had arisen outside.

"Everything's there?" a gruff voice asked.

"Yeah. It didn't take John too long to finish up with that one girl in the third house. She's back in like nothing ever happened," another man cackled. "Maybe I should take one of them slaves out for a nice night. You know it has been ages since my wife even looked at me. Maybe I just got to freshen myself up a bit in bed."

"Do you think Mustang ever took a slave out for a fun time?" the first man asked curiously. "He sure has a bunch of them, really nice women too." There was a harsh laugh.

"Yeah right. With the amount of time he spends in his house doing voodoo math I wouldn't be surprised to find he's a virgin-"

"He has a daughter-"

"Adopted. Hell with that blond hair of hers one would pay a pretty nice penny to see her in their fields."

"Or their bed." Laughter started to fade along with the clopping of hooves. When Edward heard the last hoove disappear he quietly pushed himself off of the mattress. The two bodies next to him moaned and shifted, quickly consuming the spot he had to temporarily claimed his. It was like he was never there. Backing away, Edward silently hopped over peoples' feet, heads, and bodies until he found himself standing at the open doorway. The air was still but Edward could have imagined a gentle breeze flowing through the doorway relieving the heat from the shack. He took in a deep breath, his nerves shaking all the way down to his knees. Terrified didn't even begin to describe how he felt, but it was better feeling scared and free than comfortable in confinement. Releasing his breath he was about to step through the door when he heard a hushed voice scold him from behind.

"What do you think you are doing?" Edward glanced over his shoulder to see the silhouette of slave 121 behind him. Edward never learned his real name, he didn't have time to, but he knew his face better than anyone else's. He worked the row behind him and they often had short conversations when they would pass news from the front rows to the back through the grapevine. The blond mop of hair on top of his head shined out with grease and dirt from a long day's work in the field. Edward glared at the man silently but didn't dare reply. Noticing this, the man took a nimble step forward, his bare feet silent on the wooden floorboards of the shack.

"If you are thinking about running, don't you dare. You are going to get everyone else in trouble. You won't make it to the woods," he warned him.

"I have to try," Edward whispered back harshly, his voice cutting through the thick humid air like a knife. The man met him at the door and towered over him. They were about the same age yet the man infront of him was built like an ox. His bright blue eyes pierced his gold ones like a blade.

"You belong here. You are owned now. You can't go back-"

"Yah? Well you sure ain't the one who owns me so you can't tell me what to do. Go back to bed" Edward hissed back. The man didn't move but he didn't need to. Edward poked his head out the doorway to make sure the coast was clear before clearing the threshold into the outside. He quietly slinked across the clearing down the dirt path that lead from the field to the huts. It was a clear night and silent except for the bugs making their usual summer noise. That is, until there was a loud piercing cry.

"He's leaving! He's running away!" the slave behind him screamed to alert the guards.

"JACK ASS!" Edward shouted back at him when he heard the clopping of hooves rise up from the distance. He saw lanterns light up the night and heard voices raise as if there was a riot starting. Edward turned back towards the woods and sprinted like hell through the rows of crops, going through the thicket so that the horses couldn't easily follow. He had wanted to atleast make it off he property before the guards even noticed he was gone. Because of the tattle tale back there he barely made it out of his hut.

Edward's eyes stung and watered as he felt the weeds slap his face as he pushed through. Men shouted on either side of the row and Edward looked over to see a rider on a horse galloping in the clearing. They were yelling at him, brandishing their whips and other miscellaneous weapons. Edward saw a shotgun amongst them but they wouldn't dare shoot him unless they wanted to vandalize property. They raced onward alongside the field unable to go into retrieve him. When they attempted to enter one row Edward was already onto the next. They couldn't catch him as long as he kept running. But how long could he go for? He looked forward, making his legs run to their breaking point as fear licked his heels. The black silhouette of the tree line inched closer. Row by row he was getting closer to it. Two more to go. Edward broke through the last row of crop when he ran into a wall of meat that made up one of the overseers horses. The wind was knocked out of him along with all hope of escape. He was thrown backwards to the dirt as the horse reared on its hind legs in surprise. Edward let out a small gasp of fear as the hooves rose high above his head. His muscles tensed and his body froze right to its spot unable to move. The horse's whinnying cry pierced the night and suddenly Edward felt arms wrap around his shoulders as the steed started to bring its weight back down to the earth. Edward was jerked away as hooves hit the clean dirt where his head once was.

Edward barely got a moment to be relieved that his head wasn't smashed in before he heard the loud crack of a whip behind him. A sharp sting ran right above his eye and Edward let out a sharp cry as the leather bit his skin. His arms were pulled back and Edward felt the rough fabric of rope scrape against his wrists as his face was shoved unceremoniously into the dirt. He pulled and kicked as man after man came on top of him but he just earned a swift kick to the stomach and then another. Edward wheezed as he coughed, choking for air that kept getting kicked out of him. His insides felt like they were turning to liquid and darkness unnaturally shrouded his vision even in the lantern light. A piercing smile shone through the night and Edward saw Kimblee kneel down infront of him, a rather amused look on his face.

"I knew when Mustang got you that you would try and run," he hummed through eyes that lit in pure excitement of the chase. "Drag him behind the horse. Let's show him the many reasons why this is the best place on earth." They did just that.

….


End file.
